


gasoline hounds

by millimallow



Series: the world of owa [28]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 10:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18341819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millimallow/pseuds/millimallow
Summary: wear a mask to hide my face, let the roaring shroud my voice





	gasoline hounds

sometimes the inland isn’t too bad. maybe it’s a backwards stretch of grassland and nothing else full of hicks, but there’s nowhere better to ride long-distance. we’re here in these empty swathes of plainsland for one reason and one reason only- to make our engines roar as loud as possible down the greatest stretch of land available to racers like ourselves. it’s a fierce competition, with people turning up from across the world just to participate or watch. more than likely, to lose. but i’ve had enough of losing. you can only take it with grace and dignity so often before you start wondering if there’s anything better out there for you.   
my personal ride is decked out with the symbols of my hometown on the eastern coast. not the capital- mysra knows the capital is even worse than the inland assholes. better than the capital, with the seashell wreaths and long strands of shining fibre attached to everything that moves so that they glitter in the sun. it even has the regional flag, bright orange with the red zhila-bird on it cradling the blue sun which represents ras mara. my pride makes me distinguished. nobody stands out like me.  
until i meet her. at first i can’t tell what she is, or who she is. human or elf, and from where? we’re next to each other according to the assigned order, and something about her perturbs me. the way animal furs and bullet cases line and hang off of her ride, the kind of brash design that belongs to me. and her strange flag, one of a country i don’t recognize. white, brown and green in the shape of an animal- the same animal whose skull she’s wearing on her face, obscuring her eyes and her mouth. her expression.  
so i turn to her, and i say to her- “i don’t intend to lose.”   
am i afraid? i’m more afraid that i’m afraid than i think i’m afraid in the first place, but i can’t ignore her intimidation. the way that violence and predatory attitude shines in every aspect of her getup and even her own costume. something inside me tries to restore my confidence by reminding me that it has to be hard to see with that stupid skull mask on, but a smarter part of me reminds me that i don’t know. who she is or what she’s doing- or what that mask is. the mask she seems to keep on even when tending to her vehicle’s moving parts regardless of how that might impair her or damage the mask itself, with its intricate carvings and paintings all along the sides.   
and all she replies with is “i intend to win.”   
which puts us in competition whether i like it or not. looking closer, i’m less confident that the mask is an actual skull, but the skill and dedication which goes into making such a replica inspires very little ease in my heart regarding my victory chances.   
we’re handed the gasoline rations for the event before the sun goes down, with the intentions of allowing us to set off in the early morning. with the precious fuel secured, i try my best to stop thinking about it. stop thinking of my skull-clad opponent, or my fear of just another disappointment on the trail. to let the moon overcome me in its blanket of sleep as spoken of in our legends, revealing the stars which anchor the lost in the direction of the shore. her tent is next to me, and in the night i hear nothing, not even the sound of sleep.   
\--  
even though the moon is full and round in the darkness of the sky, sleep comes as shallow as a stream through a glade. fumbling and falling through the gaps of consciousness and agency into sleep is hard enough already when you’re anticipating something. it’s harder when the wind picks up across the night in this sparse and empty place. but i only wake up at night once, to the sound of a quiet struggle outside my temporary locale. tiny, unobtrusive footsteps are suddenly crowded out by panicked grunts and repressed screaming, invisible from inside my staked abode.   
they sound like my neighbour, the mysterious lady from an unknown land. so i clutch my dagger in my hand and hold it out in front of me like a preacher and the book, slowly emerging from the low-down position of sleep and into the world again. the moon is still out in full, leaving me with no knowledge as to the span of time between me and the sunrise. beneath that moon is my neighbour, mask-less and wielding a weapon of some kind, domineering over a scrawny young man i can only recognize as one of the new competitors. and when she speaks, my heart sways like grass in a field.   
“you think you’re clever, huh?” she rolls his head over so he faces the grass as if it’s nothing. he whimpers slightly, and i get the feeling he deserves it. “stealing fuel to take off with it. not even to cheat. just for money.”   
it occurs to me that i keep my fuel in my tent by my side, and that to get to it he’d have to fight me off. me, drowsy and unequipped, my chest exposed and ready to be attacked. and i’m thankful for her presence then.   
“run off, and don’t come back. i can hit you from a mile somewhere like this, and i won’t hesitate for a second.” even if she’s bragging, the attempted criminal seems so hugely afraid that he takes to his legs and runs like a fawn in the direction of the fields. but she doesn’t lift her weapon. some kind of respectable mercy towards a criminal who would have ruined your grand debut in this particular race.   
then she sees me, and her dark brown eyes stare through mine. there’s silence on her lips for a moment, before she slacks her weapon- some kind of large and intricate firearm, unbelievably rare- to her side.   
“fair racing, my friend.”


End file.
